An Unlikely Duo: The Pirate and The Soldier (JohnlockPiratelock)
by WhoLocked93
Summary: Captain Sherlock Holmes of pirate ship 221B Baker St, sails to an island where Captain Lestrade of the Scotland Yard pirate ship's missing treasure has been suposedly taken. Sherlock meets a battered and deserted army solider. Captain Sherlock knows that the army is the pirates enemy of the sea, but he can't help but tend to the injuried man. What will become of the unlikely duo?
1. Chapter 1: Deserted Island

**Captain Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Pirate Ship**

I feel the sea water mist gently against my face, as the smell of salt water permeates the air around me. I feel at home. I've been on the sea for a couple of days. My fellow pirates from Scotland Yard gave me a case of missing treasure. The case is... intriguing.

The jewels went missing from their ship in the night. They were in the middle of the ocean and the treasure is nowhere to be found on the ship. I have searched everywhere. I wouldn't trust those daft pirates to search for it themselves, especially Anderson. I never understood why Captain Lestrade recruited him and that Donovan girl; they are clearly idiots that lower the IQ of the entire ship. He is adamant on keeping them however, only Poseidon would know why.

I roll my eyes at the thought and stand up to make my way to the wheel of my ship. Evidence of the stolen treasure points to it being taken to an island just north of here. I reach my destination in a matter of three days.

I reach the island and anchor my ship stepping onto the soft, white sand. I grasp onto my Captain's hat as it threatens to blow away from the harsh winds as my coat billows behind me. I see footprints in my peripheral vision leading into a lush, green forest. The foot prints are male, short. Army by the looks of the pattern the boots made on the sand. I step in quietly, sword drawn.

I can see an clearing in the forest a couple of meters ahead of me, I quiet my steps. A fire looms in the middle with a man dressed in army gear sitting on a log. He has short blonde hair, his army gear is torn and I can see dried blood on the fabric around his left shoulder. He stands up slowly, grabbing a makeshift cane, and begins to hobble over to a rucksack near his hut.

I step out in to the opening, sword still drawn. He jumps in surprise and turns around quickly. His bad leg unable to support him and he tumbles to the ground. He looks terrified. Some part of me pities the man and I place my sword back into my holster.

"Who... who are you?" He asks. Fear shining through his exhausted blue eyes. "You're a bloody pirate!" He adds, after taking in my cliché pirate attire.

I place my hand up in surrender, trying to portray to him that I'm not going to hurt him. He flinches when my hands rise, making me feel horrible for frightening the battered man. Why do I feel pity for him? The army tries to rid the seas of pirates like me. He's an enemy, even though I don't know him personally.

"I'm Captain Sherlock Holmes of the 221B Baker pirate ship." I say, calmly. Confirming his suspicions of me being a pirate. "I am not going to hurt you. You're an army doctor who has been injured and abandoned by your fellow comrades. You're their Captain. They have disgraced you and left you to die. You've been here for a week and you've hardly eaten or drank a thing. Probably due to your psychosomatic limp and the gunshot wound through your left shoulder. You've tried to tend to it, but you lost your medical equipment when your ship crashed and your fellow mates left you. I have equipment to tend to your wounds in my ship. With your guidance, I can mend them."

"How... How did you know all that?" He says, fascination replacing the fear that once shrouded his expression.

"I deduced it." I respond simply, whilst taking off my hat

"Deduced it?" He asks, questioningly.

"Your attire obviously gives you away that you are army. You have a medical patch on your right shoulder. So army doctor is painfully obvious. The patch over your heart says Captain, but the rest of the stitching is missing. Now why would you be on a deserted island alone? Your ship crashed, either your fellow comrades died or they left you here. Based on the anger line the have built themselves a home on your face recently, they deserted you and you're furious. You look emaciated and dehydrated, but this is recent so you couldn't have been here for more than a week. You have dried blood on your left shoulder with a bullet hole through the centre, you don't move that arm at all. So, the injury is fairly recent, probably happened when your comrades left you. Nooo, they were the one that shot you. How did I know your limp is psychosomatic? It was a guess." I finish quickly.

"That was amazing." He says as his eyes widen in surprise, catching me by complete surprise.

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do they normally say?"

"Piss off."

The battered man smiles at me. How odd. He went from fearing for his life to smiling. This makes me smile back, but I quickly drop it. He's still an enemy and they are trained to adapt to numerous circumstances. He can be trying to get on my good side only to stab me in the back. Literally. The man notices my expression drop and he quickly drops his as well. I grab the rope from my belt and walk slowly over to him. His body slumps in resign as he knows what I am about to do.

I grab his hands about to tie them around his back, when he flinches due to his injured shoulder so I tie them in the front. He looks at me surprised; I ignore him before moving on to tie his ankles together before I begin to speak again.

"You and I both know that we are enemies. I can't trust you, nor can I leave you here to rot. I am going to get my medical equipment to tend to your wounds. Then you are coming with me." I say quietly, my face completely vacant of all emotions. He nods in response. "However it would be beneficial if I knew your name." I add.

"John. Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusilier."

"Very well, Captain Watson. I will be back shortly. Don't go anywhere."

"Just call me John and where would I go, Captain Holmes?"

"Sherlock. Call me Sherlock and nowhere I couldn't find you." I say with a slight threat.

"Right. Then I won't go anywhere." He says, I nod in response and make my departure.

I don't know why I'm helping John. Perhaps because he's been abandoned and alone, something I can relate to. There is something else about him though, something I can't put my finger on. I feel like I can trust this man, a man I hardly know. Nevertheless, I will not let that sway me from my duty. He's a Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusilier. Their mission is to rid the seas of pirates like me. I cannot trust him; I will never trust him.

I continue to think about John as I reach my ship. I go below deck and grab my medical equipment. My medical skills are rudimentary, but I grab everything I know will be needed; stitches, needle, gauze, and rum to numb the pain. I turn to leave when I decide to grab some food and water for him. I don't understand why I am doing this, I keep telling myself that he's my enemy and I should just leave him, but I do not and continue grabbing the fruit and water, placing it onto the medical rucksack.

I return half expecting John to have escaped somewhere, but as I make it to the clearing I can see him lying on his right side in the sand. I begin my approach when I hear soft snores coming from him. He's fast asleep; exhaustion has taken its toll on him. I stand there watching John sleep, not sure what to do. It would be best for me to just leave him here with the supplies so he can tend to himself, but I can't make myself go. I remain rooted to the sand. With a sigh and a mental kick to myself, I set the supplies down and drape a blanket gently over him.

I turn to the fire, noticing for the first time that it has all but died down except for a few embers. I build the fire once again and wait for John to wake.

I sit on the log, placing my heads on my hands and start mumbling to myself.

"Dear god, Sherlock you're getting yourself in too deep. You need to leave. Just leave him here. He'll be fine. Just leave." I say quietly to myself, lifting my hands to ruffle my hair agitatedly. I sigh again and look over to John.

I can't leave, no matter how much I know I need to. I simply cannot leave John on this deserted island by himself. A part of me, a part that I am unfamiliar with, feels protective over John. I don't understand these emotions and feelings of sentiment. I must squash them till nothing is left, but as I look over to the sleeping John I can't help but feel my heart lift at the sight. Dear god, what is happening to me?

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2: Nightmares

**John**

_Shots ring out around me. The sharp clinking of swords pierce the air. I hear my men shouting as they surge themselves further into the midst of our enemy of the sea; pirates._

_I run with them, my sword upholstered and ready. I meet head on with the enemy. Our swords hit together violently. Slicing up and down in an ear piercing screech. I push off of him and he stumbles backward before regaining himself and running forward._

_He raises his sword, a murderous glint in his eyes. He swings his sword down to my head, but I lift mine up above my head blocking it tactfully. We break apart, both fumbling backwards slightly before rushing forward. He makes another swipe towards me, but I duck under it and swipe his sword away as it comes back. It flies out of his hand and across the sky, landing somewhere unknown. He looks in it's direction before his eyes trial back to me. I bring my sword forth and thrust it to his stomach, the sharp blade piercing easily into his flesh as blood oozes around it._

_He slumps forward, dragging his head weakly upward to look at me as blood drips from his mouth._

_He smiles a bloody, toothy smile. It send chills up my spine. I grab him by the scruff of his hair yanking him back violently. He jerks and winces in pain, the light in his eyes fading as he slowly slips into death's grasp. _

_Before the light in his eyes vacate completely, he looks at me alarmingly alert and whispers, "You're doomed, Captain Watson. You blind, worthless tit." Without a second thought, I thrust my sword harder into his stomach and out his back. He gives an agonising groan and slumps. I push him off of my sword with my foot._

_I whip my sword in the air by my side, trying to get the blood off when I notice the air around me is eerily silent. I look to my sides and realise that none of my comrades are around; dead nor alive and neither are the pirates. The hairs on the back of my neck prick up and I turn slowly around._

_I'm confronted with a sight I thought I'd never see. My fellow comrades standing next to out enemies. They aren't fighting or attacking them, but standing side by side each other._

_"What are you doing?!" I shout at them. "Attack them! Attack them now! As your Captain I order you to attack them!"_

_"You are a foolish man, Watson." One of my fellow men say. He's a tall bloke. With a hawk like nose and greasy, mousy hair that he keeps in tangles around his face. His name eludes me, but I know he hasn't been recruited for very long. None of my men on this mission have been recruited for very long._

_"That is Captain Watson to you!" I retort in my Captain's voice. He steps forward, his gaze dropping to a cold, dead stare._

_"You are not our Captain anymore."_

_"What the bloody hell you think that for?"_

_"Don't. Be. Daft. You mewling quim. Put your two brain cells together and think!"_

_I know what's going on, but I don't want to believe it. I want to believe that my mind is tricking me. But I know that to not be the case. I see what's in front of me with a sinking heart. My men. My comrades. They have betrayed me. Allying with our enemies; the pirates._

_"Why?" I ask, simply._

_"Ohhh, I see you've finally got it! Very good, Watson! Very good !" He says in mock praising. "But why you ask? Why indeed..." He trails off, pacing back and forth whilst flicking his sword around._

_"Out with it!" I demand stepping forward. That was a mistake. The man who's name still eludes me pulls out a gun, pointing it directly at me. I freeze, placing my hands up in surrender. He smiles at my submission and begins clicking his tongue in disapproval._

_"Don't move now. Move and I'll shoot you. You've got that?" He says cocking his head from side to side like a snake ready to strike. I nod in response and he turns back to pacing._

_"You see, Watson. We have a deal with these men here. You would call them our enemies, but they are more allies. Quite honestly, they always have been. We came to the army, with a single plan in mind. To take over the army from the inside out. Your people were so desperate to recruit more men that they didn't realise the fifty pirates infiltrating your base under pretend names and backgrounds wanting oh so badly to become a solider for the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." He gives a short snort of sarcastic laughter before continuing. "In short Watson, we are pirates, all of us are pirates. We will take over the army and ultimately the seas once we succeed in throwing all you scum into the water. Not before we give each of you a choice of course." He finishes tauntingly._

_By now, I'm furious. Rage boils through me and I fear I will explode. How did this happen? How did we let fifty pirates into our ranks without realising? I only have ten with me so the others are who knows where. Fuck!_

_I take a deep breathe, trying to calm myself. The red rage that has seeped into my vision begins to recede as I take control of myself. I clench my fist into a ball at my side and hold my head up in dignity._

_"What choice?" I ask, through clenched teeth._

_"You can come with us and be one of us... or you can die here alone."_

_I contemplate my choices. I come to a decision rather quickly. It wasn't a difficult choice to make._

_I stand slowly, bowing my head as my hands remain up in surrender._

_"Well. It's not that difficult a choice to make." I say, empty of all emotions. My follow comrade chuckles approvingly._

_"Smart man." He smirks._

_He turns his back towards me and I take the opportunity to charge forward, my gun drawn. He whips around drawing his own. Two shots ring out. I see him drop as pain sears through my left shoulder and I collapse to the ground. I press my hand firmly against my shoulder and feel excruciating pain over take me, I pull my hand away to see it drenched in blood. Shit._

_I pull my gaze up to see the man I shot lying on the ground, his face is angled towards me. A single gun shot wound through the centre of his head. He's dead. The other men approach me; all I can see is death in their eyes. I try to stand, but I trip over my own feet and fall back down again, clutching at the sand. They begin to surround me, looking down upon me with zero remorse._

_One kicks me in the side and I howl in pain. Another kicks me in my knee. Then another and another. They keep kicking me so much that the pain eventually goes away and I just feel numb. Darkness consumes me and my vision starts to give out. I hear the distant shouting of my name before everything goes black and then there's nothing._

I wake up with a violent start, sitting bolt up and breathing heavily. My breathing is ragged and my heart is racing. Everyday for the last week that nightmare has haunted me. The day when my ex comrades betrayed me, but they didn't betray me their motives were always sinister from the very beginning. Bloody fucking pirates.

I clench my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing heavily trying to calm myself. I hear a stick crack and I jump violently. I tear my eyes open and towards the noise. I breathe out a sigh of relief. It's just Sherlock.

_Sherlock._

My eyes narrow at him and my brow furrows angrily. Speaking of a bloody pirate.

"John? Are you alright?" He ask, tentatively, approaching slowly.

"Piss off." I say, through clenched teeth. Pirates are no good piece of shits, the lot of them are. All are traitorous scum. This one is trying to gain my trust just to use it against me in a sinister way just like the others like him.

"John, are you alright? You were thrashing around terribly." He asks again, trying to mask the hurt that skittered across his pale face.

"Why the fuck do you care?"

"I... uhh... don't know." He says, faltering before regaining his composure. "I know that your hurt and you've been thrashing around for the past thirty minutes in your sleep. Taking in your recent traumatising events, you were having a nightmare about when your comrades shot and betrayed you. I don't want to leave you hurt and to rot. I simply want to tend to your wounds so I can take care of something here and leave this god forsaken island."

"Why should I trust you?" I ask mentally exhausted. I don't want to believe him or trust him, but a part of me can't help but believe that he is telling the truth.

"Because if I didn't want to do everything I just stated, I wouldn't be here and you would be dead." He states blankly, voided of all emotions. He's got a point, but he can still find some sinister use for me.

I slump in resign. I'll allow him to tend to my shoulder and go with him, but I'll remain on my toes the entire time and execute my escape the second an opportunity arises.

"May I approach you?" He asks, concerned.

I nod solemnly and Sherlock approaches grabbing a rucksack a couple metres away from me. He sets it down near my leg and begins to rummage through it. He pulls out needles, thread, gauze, and rum. Everything needed to numb and tend to my wound. I noticed he hesitates and then slowly brings out some fruit and water. I look at him surprised, my defensive state dropping.

Sherlock looks at me, upon seeing me stare at him he drops his gaze back to the food and water.

"I figured you're probably hungry and thirsty..." He trails off, a slight blush creeping across his high cheekbones.

I stare at him incredulous. The last of my anger leaves me like I've been deflated. What sort of pirate would bring their enemy food and water?

I shift and feel a blanket fall off my shoulders. I gawk at him in even more astonishment. He just shrugs embarrassed and diverts his gaze from mine and begins to speak softly.

"Against what you are obviously thinking, even though I am a pirate, I mean you know harm. I came to this island to help another pirate ship look for their stolen treasure. I am not like the others you have encountered. I don't scavenge or pillage the innocent. I keep to myself and solve crimes whenever they arise. I am a consulting detective is all. I do no one harm. I just try to help people."

I gawk unattractively at him. My mouth hanging open slightly as my eyes bug out in disbelief.

"A consulting detective?" I question. I don't even know what the bloody hell that is.

"Yes, John. A consulting detective. The only one in the world, I created it myself." He states simply. He must have seen the confused look on my face as he seems to suppress an eye roll and continue. "When my fellow pirates from Scotland Yard are out on the arse with cases they come to me to solve them, which is most of the time."

"Scotland Yard. _The_ Scotland Yard Pirate Ship?"

"Yes. They are like me. They never harm, pillage, or scavenge the innocent. They work closely with the homeland to solve crimes and follow leads on treasures."

I nod taking in this new found information. What an odd lot of pirates. I've never heard of pirates like them before. Sure I've heard of the Scotland Yard, they are Privateers. The are the only pirate ship allowed within the realm of the homelands, but I never knew why or for what...

We sit in silence. Sherlock allowing me to wrap my mind around the flood of information I just received. He waits surprisingly patient as he doesn't seem like the sort to wait patiently. After a couple minutes, I break from my trance and look at him. We stare at each other for a moment, before Sherlock breaks the silence.

"Would you like to eat or fix your wound first?" He asks.

I ponder this for a second before deciding on tending to my wound first. It really needs to be taken care of properly. I'm honestly surprised that an infection hasn't settled in yet.

"Wound." I state and he nods. "But may I have a bit of water?" I ask.

"Oh, yeah. Of course." He says distractedly handing me the ladle and small barrel. I struggle with the barrel lid, so Sherlock opens it for me. I give him a quiet 'ta' and he nods in response.

I take a huge gulp of the cool, refreshing water eagerly. I spill some down my front, but I don't care I am parched. I drink more and more until my thirst is sated, I set the ladle down and realise I've drank more than half the barrel. I look up at Sherlock apologetically, but I'm met with his aquamarine eyes shining with mirth. I can't help but smile.

We sit their as minutes, or was it only seconds, pass still staring at each other. Part of me is whispering to itself that I shouldn't be staring at another man like this, especially an enemy. But the other part whispers back that I'm not staring at him in any sort of way. With the first part of my mind winning out, I drop my gaze awkwardly.

I glance quickly back up and see that Sherlock's blank facade is back up, his emotions completely concealed. I suppress an exasperated sigh. _Why the hell does that exasperate me?_

"Ready?" Sherlock asks pulling me from my train of thought.

"Yeah. Let's get it over with." I say, gruffly pushing all thoughts of the staring contest with Sherlock out of my mind.

He nods minutely and scoots forward. He looks at me questioning and I nod giving him permission to prod around my injured shoulder.

He lifts the fabric up around the wound before placing it back down and pausing like he's not sure what to say.

"John you're going to need to take off your army top." He states, monotone avoiding my eyes.

I knew I would have to. The gun shot wound is all the way through. He wouldn't be able to tend to it properly if I kept it on. I nod to him and begin to unbutton my top swiftly.

I shrug out of my top easily, but stop as I look down at my undershirt. I won't be able to get it off myself, not with seriously hurting myself and/or ripping the coagulated wound open and it starts bleeding again.

Sherlock senses my internal conflict easily. It's quite amazing.

"I didn't bring anything to cut with." He says, apologetically.

"Umm... well shit. Can you rip it open perhaps?"

He raises a mischievous eyebrow at me. "Definitely so." He says, his deep baritone voice going miraculously deeper... _Wait. Is he flirting with me?... Sherlock Holmes. A pirate flirting? No. No. Definitely not. Don't be daft, John._

"But it'll probably jostle your shoulder too much. So it may not be the best idea."

"Right so." I agree, before grasping at an idea and blurting it out. "Can't you take it off?" I instantly regret it and feel my cheeks flush in overwhelming embarrassment. Sherlock gawks at me before recovering his features and nods.

"Yes. That'll probably be the best way. Unless... you want me to go to my ship and get something to cut your shirt with?"

"I'd really prefer not completely destroying my shirt and getting my shoulder fixed as quickly as possible."

He nods and moves forward, grasping the bottom hem of my shirt. I nod and he begins to lift it up. I can feel my heart begin to accelerate and my palms becoming slick. I don't understand what is happening and why I feel so nervous about this.

I don't have time to dwell on it as Sherlock needs my cooperation in getting my good arm through the shirt. We get it though easily and I notice with a jolt that Sherlock is breathing quickly and his pupils are dilated. _Dear god, I hope he's okay... Maybe he's just feeling a bit ill is all._

He moves that fabric upward and we get my head through. I feel Sherlock's long, slender fingers caress the top of my head delicately, it takes all my will power to not shiver in response. Sherlock's eye trail across my tan, muscular chest and torso...

He moves onto my bad arm and pushes the fabric down, so it can fall into a heap on the floor. It gets caught around my elbow. We look at each other and nod.

Sherlock grasps my forearm and I feel a tingling sensation worm it's way through my veins at his touch. I push the feeling aside as Sherlock moves my arm away from my body as I grit my teeth against the pain and the shirt drops to the sand.

"Well that was painfully exhausting." I huff out as Sherlock begins to remove the soiled makeshift gauze from my shoulder.

He grabs the barrel of water and label and starts to dump water onto my wound, cleaning it out. After he successfully cleans the entrance and exit wound, quite nicely I might add, he moves into the rum. We need to sterilise it.

I grab my shirt from the sand and stuff it in my mouth. This is going to be excruciating. Sherlock looks at me sadly before tipping the bottle perilously close to my wound and stopping.

"Just get it over with." I say around a mouthful of shirt.

He tips the bottle and burning pain sears through my arm. The pain is excruciating and it makes my eyes sting in response. My breathing becomes exaggeratedly jagged as I try not to scream. One of my hands grab the shirt stuffed into my mouth as I scream into it and the other, unbeknownst to me, grasps Sherlock's upper thigh.

He tips the bottle away and examines the entrance wound. He gives a satisfied nod and tries to move around to my back when he stops.

"Err, John?" He asks, amusement seeping into his tone. I look at him questioning and he continues. "I am going to need you to move your hand."

"Huh?" I ask stupidly. He tries to surprise a smile and glances down. I follow his gaze and of my dear god my hand is grasping high up on his thigh. Really high up. I just have to shift my hand over a couple inches and I'll be near his...

My hand flies off quickly and I mumble my apologise as I blush a furious shade of scarlet. Sherlock's suppresses a laugh with a cough and moves to the exit wound.

"Ready?" He asks.

"Wait." I say grabbing the rum bottle and taking a massive swig. He raises his eyebrow at me as the rum spreads through my veins like fire. I hand it back to him. "Ready."

He chuckles and tips the bottle, I feel the rum hit my back. I wince and cringe away as the pain shots through me once more. Sherlock places a steady hand on my shoulder to keep me from moving. The notion is oddly comforting and I relax. Sherlock pulls the bottle away and dabs away the excess alcohol away. _Dear god I hate having my wounds tended to._

I sigh and hang my head, dreading what's to come. Sure I've had wounds mended before, but it didn't mean I didn't dread having it done.

"You doing okay?" He asks tentatively, noticing my change.

"Yeah. I just hate getting fixed up. Makes me feel a bit useless and I don't like pain." I respond truthfully.

"You know for an army doctor, you are quite unique. I would have deduced that pain and getting fixed up yourself wouldn't bother you. My apologise for the incorrect deduction." He says softly, smiling slightly. I can't help but notice my breath hitch as I watch his cupid bow lips smile around his beautiful straight, white teeth.

"Don't apologise." I say equally as soft, still captivated by his lips.

"You won't have to feel useless for long as I need your guidance to patch your wounds." He says looking at me and I quickly drop my gaze to my wound pretending that I've been looking at it the entire time.

"Right. Patching the wound is actually fairly simple. Since bullet wounds are generally harder to stitch we won't be using the needle or thread." I say looking up at Sherlock. He looks at me intently, absorbing every word I say. "Just grab a thick square piece of gauze and place it on the exit and entrance wound."

At my stop, he begins to get the pieces of gauze ready and presses it to my front and back shoulder. I flinch a bit from the pain and he mumbles his apologise, but I wave it away.

"Now you just need to take the rest of the gauze and wrap it around my shoulder securing the square gauzes in place and pin it there so it won't move." He nods and looks at the roll of gauze in his lap. Seeing his confliction I bring my good arm up and hold the gauze on the front of my shoulder in place so he can wrap the gauze around my shoulder.

After we complete, he helps me get my undershirt back on, followed by my army top.

He helps me up and we stand awkwardly next to each other, neither of us sure what to do.

"I have business to attend to here before we leave. As it is getting late, we shall get our rest and start fresh in the morning." Sherlock says once again voided of all emotions. His eyes blank and distant.

I nod and make my way to the log near the fire, rejoicing in its warmth. I sit down heavily, suddenly feeling exhaustion take over me. I hear Sherlock's soft approach and the sound of a bag being dropped next to me, revelling fruit in its contents.

"Eat." He demands.

I oblige and pick up a banana, peeling back it's peel and taking a bite. I realise how hungry I am and devour the banana quickly and reach for another. Half way through my second banana I look over to Sherlock to see his eyes closed and his hands steepled against his lips. He looks so peaceful, I wonder if he's fallen asleep...

Just as the thought floats through my mind, Sherlock's eyes open, but his hands remained steepled against his lips.

"Are you going to eat?" I ask.

"No." He says, dryly.

"Why not?"

"Not hungry."

I purse my lips. He's been here most of the day, he has to be somewhat hungry.

"When was the last time you ate?" I ask, pressing further. He looks at me oddly before closing his eyes again.

"A couple days."

I spat out my banana at this and cough trying to catch my breath. "A couple of days?!" I ask strained from my coughing fit.

"Yes, John. Do listen."

"You need to eat!" I say, exasperated.

"Eating slows my mind down. It's not what I need right now. I'll eat when the case is over."

"What case?"

"Scotland Yard has had treasure taken from their ship in the middle of the sea. The evidence points to it being taken here, so I am here to investigate further."

"I take it I am coming with you until you find something to do with me?"

"Yes. But do not fret as I am not going to do anything sinister to you... That is unless you do something to me then I will do what I have to do." He says, threatening.

I nod. I don't plan to do anything to him. If I can escape, damn it I'll escape. But I won't harm Sherlock, he hasn't done anything to harm me.

"Are you done eating?" He asks, looking at the three banana peels.

"Oh, yes."

"Very well." He says standing up and walking over to me. I see a rope in his hand and know what is about to come. Damn it.

"Like I stated before, we are enemies by default. I can't trust you and I won't be able to sleep properly if you are not incapacitated.

I understand fully therefore I do not try to fight him.

He ties my arms and ankles tight enough that I can't slip out but loose enough so it doesn't hurt.

"Let's get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

I slump off the log and on to the sand, curling on my side close to the fire. Sherlock remains seated on the log, his eyes closed and hands steepled against his lips once more.

A couple minutes pass as I watch the flames lick around the air playfully. I glance back at Sherlock and he hasn't moved. I'm curious on what tomorrow will bring, whether it be good or bad. For personal sake, I hope it's good. I've had enough bad to last a life time.

I feel myself slowly drifting to sleep when I ask drowsily, "Where are we going tomorrow?"

Sherlock opens his eyes and drops his hands to look at me, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"We're going on an adventure."

To be continued...


End file.
